Rogue

by Mark Walden

  ‘He’s in good hands, Max,’ Raven said.

  ‘I know,’ Nero replied, ‘but that’s not all I’m worried about.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Word of the attack on Diabolus is bound to leak out. You saw what the atmosphere was like in the council meeting. The one thing that G.L.O.V.E. does not need now is a power vacuum, and I fear that Trent is perfectly aware of that.’

  ‘You think that the council will move to replace him?’

  ‘It is not beyond the realms of possibility,’ Nero said with a sigh. ‘They are a group of people not known for their patience, and I fear that some among the council will see this as a perfect opportunity to stake their claim.’

  Raven did not want to believe that was true, but then she had never been particularly interested in the politics and power games that the senior members of G.L.O.V.E. got up to behind the scenes. She was more the practical, problem-solving or, more accurately, problem-eliminating type.

  Nero saw Professor Pike and Laura Brand hurrying across the landing pad towards them, and he tried to put concerns over Diabolus’s condition and what it meant for G.L.O.V.E. to one side. He had a school to run too.

  ‘Professor, Miss Brand,’ Nero said with a nod of acknowledgement as they approached, ‘is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘I believe Laura has made a breakthrough in solving what is going wrong with the school’s systems,’ the Professor said quickly.

  ‘I see,’ Nero said. ‘Is it something that can wait until the morning?’ Nero would never admit it in front of one of his pupils, but it had been a very long day and he needed to get at least a few hours’ sleep. An aura of inhuman endurance could be a difficult thing to maintain at times.

  ‘No, I don’t think it can,’ Professor Pike said, shaking his head. ‘We may be running out of time.’

  ‘What happened?’ Trent said angrily, looking through the thick glass at the technicians and medics gathered around Otto’s unconscious body.

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Dr Creed replied nervously. ‘His biometric readings looked fine and then suddenly his neural activity went off the charts. A few moments later the Animus fluid became temporarily inert, almost as if it was shut down.’

  ‘You assured me that Animus was immune to these sorts of problems,’ Trent replied, sounding impatient.

  ‘It is – well, it should be,’ Creed replied. ‘We know that Animus was probably conceived as an organic computer system that would be immune to any form of electronic disruption, specifically the electromagnetic pulse that accompanies a nuclear detonation. That’s the beauty of an organic supercomputer – it is self-replicating and self-repairing. In theory, even if only a tiny amount of the fluid survives an attempt to destroy it, the whole system will be able to rebuild itself. I would love to meet its original designer.’

  ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible. He died some time ago,’ Trent replied.

  ‘The nano-technology alone is a quantum leap ahead of anything anyone else has been able to achieve. We are still years away from being able to create nanites that allow even limited movement or such rapid replication. With it as fully integrated and in the boy’s nervous system as it is now, he should be entirely subject to our control . . . programmable.’

  ‘I know all of this, Doctor, and none of it explains what happened today,’ Trent said. ‘The boy is too valuable an asset for this sort of failure. I need to be sure that he is reliable.’

  ‘I understand,’ Creed replied. ‘Rest assured that my team and I will be working around the clock to fix this.’

  ‘See that you do,’ Trent said coldly. ‘No mistakes, Creed. You would be a difficult, but not impossible, man to replace.’

  ‘Yes . . . sir,’ Creed replied, swallowing nervously.

  Trent walked out of the medical bay with an irritated scowl on his face. The Malpense boy had to be operating at full efficiency. It was essential if he was going to continue with his mission to eliminate G.L.O.V.E. Without him they lost their penetration of G.L.O.V.E.’s communication network, which would make locating their targets next to impossible, given that they were a group of people who had made careers out of being difficult to find.

  Ghost was waiting just outside the door and fell into step alongside Trent as he stalked away down the corridor.

  ‘Do they know what caused the boy to go off-mission yet?’ she asked as they walked.

  ‘No, but Creed assures me that it’s only a matter of time until they do,’ Trent said. ‘I take it that you experienced no such problems.’

  ‘My implants functioned perfectly,’ she replied, ‘but it would not have mattered that Malpense did not carry out his mission correctly if I had succeeded in mine.’

  ‘Nero was never going to be an easy target, especially with his trained attack dog in tow,’ Trent pointed out.

  ‘I had her,’ Ghost said, the frustration clear in her voice. ‘I would have finished her if it had not been for Nero’s intervention.’

  ‘Of course you would,’ Trent agreed. ‘That is, after all, what you were designed to do.’

  ‘She will not be so lucky next time,’ said Ghost, her hands clenching into fists.

  ‘I need to make a call,’ Trent said as they approached the door to his office. ‘You should start preparations for your next mission. I want to move as soon as Malpense has located our next target.’

  Ghost gave a quick nod and strode away down the corridor. Trent smiled slightly. The truth of the matter was that he had been extremely pleased with her performance in Sydney. Despite the enhancements to her body, he had still had his doubts about whether it would be enough when she confronted someone as lethal and ruthless as Raven. As it was, she had exceeded his expectations, which was considerably more than he could say for Malpense.

  He walked into his office and sat down at his desk. There was no decoration, in accordance with his usual tastes – just plain concrete walls and a single metal desk with a secure terminal. It was all he needed. He keyed in his encryption code and connected to the secure comms line. After a few seconds three digitally distorted faces appeared on the screen in front of him.

  ‘We have studied your report on the operation in Australia,’ the man on the left said. ‘A disappointing result.’

  ‘Yes,’ Trent replied, ‘but if Darkdoom isn’t already dead, he will at least be out of action for some time. His condition should serve to further increase the chaos within G.L.O.V.E. This is just a temporary setback. We should not lose sight of our long-term goals.’

  ‘That may well be,’ the woman on the right said, ‘but those long-term goals are dependent on the Malpense boy being a reliable asset. His failure on this mission is . . . troubling.’

  ‘You may assure the rest of the Disciples that we are urgently investigating the causes of his current condition. Doctor Creed assures me that he will soon have answers.’

  ‘The project depends on that,’ the man in the centre of the screen said. ‘If we truly are to honour the legacy of this group’s founder, we cannot afford any mistakes.’

  ‘I understand,’ Trent replied. ‘I will keep you apprised of the boy’s condition. In the meantime I will divert all H.O.P.E.’s resources to finding whatever rock Nero and Darkdoom have crawled under.’

  ‘It is somewhat frustrating that we have not yet been able to determine the precise location of the school,’ the woman on the screen said.

  ‘Nero has gone to an extraordinary amount of trouble to keep that facility hidden,’ Trent replied. ‘It is his greatest vulnerability, so it is perhaps not surprising that he has gone to such lengths. From what we have been able to determine, it would appear that not even the members of G.L.O.V.E.’s ruling council know exactly where it is.’

  ‘Surely Malpense must have some clue as to its location,’ the man on the left said.

  ‘Perhaps, but the Animus fluid keeps his conscious personality suppressed. To interrogate him I would have to reverse the process th
at allows us to control him. Doing that would be traumatic, perhaps even lethal. We all know he is too valuable for that.’

  ‘So what is the next step?’ the woman asked.

  ‘We continue with the disassembly of G.L.O.V.E. until Nero or Darkdoom breaks cover,’ Trent replied.

  ‘Agreed,’ the man on the left said.

  ‘Of course,’ the woman on the right agreed.

  ‘Let us hope we do not suffer any more unforeseen setbacks,’ the man in the centre said.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Trent said with a smile. ‘G.L.O.V.E. is finished. It’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘So tell me, Professor,’ Nero said with a tired sigh, ‘what is so urgent that it could not wait until the morning?’

  ‘I believe we may have found what has been causing the problems with H.I.V.E.’s systems,’ the Professor said, looking anxious.

  ‘Really?’ Nero said. ‘I take it that it is something that I need to be concerned about.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Professor replied. ‘I’m afraid an aggressive program appears to be attempting to build new code within our system. Miss Brand has found sections of code very well hidden within the network, very well hidden indeed. The problem we have now is that neither she nor I can determine exactly what it’s designed to do or who is responsible for concealing its presence in such a devious way.’

  ‘Is it a virus?’ Nero asked, secretly hoping that this would be one of the occasions when the Professor explained things without going into too much technical detail.

  ‘Not really,’ Laura said. ‘A virus is usually designed simply to replicate itself, to spread, just like an organic virus. This almost seems like something is being constructed from scratch. It’s not making copies of itself, it’s growing.

  ‘I’m afraid the distinction is rather lost on me, Miss Brand,’ Nero said, sounding slightly impatient. ‘I assume that it is something hostile, judging by the disruption it has been causing. Certainly we need to stop it before it can do serious, lasting harm. Thus far it has been little more than an inconvenience. I do not wish to wait until it becomes something more sinister. Can you remove it?’

  ‘That’s the most worrying thing,’ the Professor said with a frown. ‘We’ve tried to, but every time we remove any of the mystery data it simply reappears somewhere else on the system. If I did not know better, I would say that it’s behaving intelligently.’

  Nero felt a sudden cold chill run down his spine.

  ‘Are you saying that the code in question is aware of what you’re trying to do?’ he asked.

  ‘It rather appears that way, yes,’ the Professor replied. ‘The code being built is more complex than anything either I or Miss Brand have ever seen before. I may have had a hand in designing artificial-intelligence systems in the past, but I was merely building upon the work of others. This is all rather beyond my experience.’

  ‘I see,’ Nero said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘Thank you for your work on this, Miss Brand. You appear to have been most helpful. I think you should return to the accommodation block now. It’s very late and you have classes tomorrow.’

  ‘But, sir, I –’ Laura began.

  ‘It was not a request, Miss Brand,’ Nero said calmly. ‘I am sure that the Professor will keep you updated on any developments.’

  Laura looked for a moment like she might be going to argue, but then thought better of it.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied with a sigh before leaving Nero’s office.

  ‘I do not like the sound of this, Professor,’ Nero said as the door closed behind her. ‘What’s our next step?’

  ‘Well, what we really need is an expert in designing and controlling AIs, and no one on the island has that kind of experience,’ the Professor replied with a frown.

  ‘Actually, Professor,’ said Nero, looking slightly uncomfortable, ‘that is not strictly true.’

  ‘Doctor Creed,’ the young technician sitting at a nearby workstation said, ‘I think I’ve found something.’

  ‘What is it?’ Creed said, walking behind her and peering over her shoulder at the display.

  ‘Here,’ the tech said, pointing at the three-dimensional image of a brain on the screen, ‘near the stem. It’s so small and well concealed that we missed it during earlier scans.’

  ‘What is it?’ Creed asked, examining the tiny ovoid deformation in the normal structure of the brain.

  ‘I have no idea,’ the technician replied honestly. ‘It appears to be organic, but it also seems to be shielded somehow from our normal scanning techniques. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’

  ‘Curious,’ Creed said, frowning. ‘Can we remove it?’

  ‘Not without killing the boy,’ the technician replied. ‘It’s fully integrated with his brain tissue, almost as if it’s a natural structure. That’s probably why we missed it during our earlier scans. If it is artificial, then someone has gone to extraordinary lengths to conceal it and to ensure that it cannot be tampered with.’

  ‘Overlay the scan of Animus penetration of the brain tissue,’ Creed said, and the technician typed a series of commands that displayed a new layer on top of the original image. This new layer displayed a veiny black web that seemed to have penetrated every cubic centimetre of the brain tissue. Everywhere except for one small area – the exact same area that the mysterious object occupied.

  ‘There,’ Creed said. ‘See how the Animus has penetrated completely throughout the cerebellum but has avoided that area.’

  ‘Why would that be?’ the technician asked, sounding confused.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Creed replied. ‘Let’s try something,’ he went on. ‘Activate real-time scanning and give the Animus explicit instructions to attempt integration with the object.’

  ‘It’ll take a couple of minutes,’ the technician said as she started to tap away at her keyboard.

  ‘There,’ she said eventually. ‘Bringing up real-time scan.’

  The display changed to a zoomed-in view of the Animus penetration around the object as several of the tendrils of the black fluid crept towards it. Creed’s eyes widened as just a moment later he saw the Animus shrink away from the object. It was impossible to say whether it had been driven back or had recoiled voluntarily, but it was at least clear why this tiny part of Malpense’s brain had remained free of Animus. Unfortunately it left them no closer to understanding what the object was. That would require an invasive, almost certainly fatal surgical procedure and Creed knew there was no way that Trent would authorise that.

  ‘Neural activity is increasing,’ a technician on the other side of the lab reported. ‘I think he’s waking up.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Dr Creed replied. He did not know if their attempt to force the Animus to integrate with the mysterious object was related to Malpense’s sudden revival, but it seemed like rather a coincidence.

  The doctor walked over to the bed in the centre of the lab and looked down at the boy as his Animus-darkened eyes flickered open.

  ‘Welcome back, Mr Malpense,’ Creed said as the boy focused on him. ‘I trust you are feeling better.’

  ‘What happened?’ Otto asked, his voice croaky.

  ‘You suffered a period of unconsciousness during your last mission,’ Creed replied. ‘You have been asleep for some time.’

  ‘Did the targets escape?’ Otto asked, frowning.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid they did,’ Creed replied.

  ‘It will not happen again,’ Otto said, looking suddenly angry. ‘Such weakness is unacceptable.’

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘Not so fast, Mr Malpense,’ Creed replied. ‘I have some tests to run before I pass you mission fit again.’

  ‘Then get on with it,’ Otto said impatiently. ‘I want to get back to my work.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Creed replied with a faint smile.

  Otto lay back down on the bed as various technicians busied themselves with analysing his mental and ph
ysical condition. As the work continued Creed observed the boy and saw that his eyes followed everything. Creed had seen many bizarre and chilling things over the course of his career working for H.O.P.E., but there was still something about this young subject that he found deeply unsettling. He knew that he would have to report all the details of the boy’s condition to Trent, including their discovery of the strange object hidden deep within his brain. Creed also knew that Trent would be less than satisfied with his inability explain to its purpose and origins.

  Raven watched the painstaking and delicate work of the surgical team through the observation window. They had already been working on Darkdoom for the best part of an hour. She knew it was foolish to blame herself for his condition – indeed she’d almost certainly saved his life. The sniper in Sydney had been going for a head shot and only her swift action had prevented his instant death. That, however, was not the way her mind worked. Instead she found herself wondering what would have happened if she had moved just a fraction faster, reacted slightly more quickly.

  One of the surgeons made her way out of the theatre, pulling off her blood-smeared latex gloves and removing her surgical mask as she walked over to where Raven was standing.

  ‘How is he, Doctor?’ Raven asked as the woman approached, not taking her eyes off the scene beyond the glass.

  ‘It is too soon to say,’ the doctor replied. ‘He has a collapsed lung and the bullet grazed his heart. He lost a lot of blood on the journey. It would have been better to have taken him to the nearest hospital instead of bringing him here.’

  ‘That was not an option.’ Raven’s voice was calm.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Still, you did a good job of stabilising his condition. You probably saved his life.’

  ‘I think it is perhaps a little too early for congratulations,’ Raven said with a sigh. It was not the first time that she had been grateful for the emergency medical training she had received as part of her tuition so many years ago.

  ‘Let me look at that,’ the doctor said, gesturing towards the deep cut left in Raven’s shoulder by Ghost’s wrist-blade.